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"So yes," Jude said, "I believed her. And if you're wondering if I touched her, the answer is no."
"I..." She forced herself to meet his gaze, which had gone black and fathomless with emotion. "I only feared that—"
"But I will touch you, Marissa, right now, if you don't leave."
"What?" She took a deep breath as a hint of trepidation sizzled through her excited body.
"I'll have you now and end this ridiculous farce between us. And we will marry. Understand that. If I have you, there will be a wedding."
Her eyes skittered over him as the nervousness chased her arousal faster. He would have her. If she let him. He'd lay her on the bed and press all that nude flesh atop her, and then he'd slide between her legs and—
"Turn around," he growled. "Stop looking at me like you want it and leave. Because we both know you'll regret it in the morning when you're stuck with me for the rest of your life."
'Jude—"
"Leave!" His voice exploded through the room, shaking the very walls, it seemed. He snarled and stepped toward her, and Marissa knew she should be scared, but she wasn't.
Still, she didn't want him this way, lusting and hating all at once. She would regret that, at least, if nothing else.
So she stole one last look at Jude's proud body, and she turned and walked away, even as her heart threw a tantrum inside her chest. It wanted him, and it resented the tight control of her mind. Marissa was beginning to resent it as well.
Chapter 18
There were only seven of them left in the house. Seven people in this house, and yet she hadn't caught even a glimpse of Jude since the encounter in his room. During breakfast he'd been out riding. For luncheon, Marissa had eaten in her mother's chambers while the seamstress Finished the last-minute touches on the gowns her mother had sent for restyling. Then the afternoon had been spent sorting through old scraps that her mother insisted needed to go out to the village needy before the weather grew any colder.
But Marissa had been beset with nervous energy all day. The men had determined that there was nothing to be done but to pay the five-thousand pounds. They had no other suspects to interview. No leads to follow up. If Charles was at the ball tonight, he'd be pulled aside and quizzed as discreetly as possible. But the money would be left according to the instructions, and the men would take turns watching the hidey-hole for whoever came to retrieve it. This particular fete was popular, which was likely why it had been chosen. The suspect could hide among any dozens of neighbors or guests. There'd be no way to catch the blackmailer unless the trap worked perfectly.
And then what would happen?
Marissa paced across the drawing room as she worried. The warmth of the fire drew her in, then seemed to push her away on a tide of heat when she walked back toward the cold windows. Back and forth she went, forehead aching from the tightness of her frown.
She had no doubt the blackmailer would be caught, but the question was, could he be stopped? Could they convince him to set aside his plans and keep quiet?
There was no way to be sure, aside from murder, and her discarded virtue was no cause for killing.
And there was so much more to worry over, even beyond the blackmail. What was Jude thinking? What did he want? What would he do once this mess was over?
The drawing-room door snapped open, and Marissa spun around to greet Jude, but it was only her mother.
"Where is everyone?" Marissa complained.
Her mother tugged on gloves and went to sit in a chair pulled close to the flames. "It's so cold, I told the men to pile into the carriages first. We'll join them once the braziers have taken hold."
"Are they already outside then?"
"Most of them, yes."
Marissa craned her neck to peck into the corridor. "Jude?"
Her mother waved a dismissive hand. "I'm not sure. But I want you to ride with me. There is still so much planning to do for the Boxing Day gathering. I refuse to allow last year's choir to return. My Clod, they were entirely dreary, weren't they?"
"The choices were a bit spiritual, Mother, but—"
"Horrid! This year, I think we shall have mummers. Won't that be enchanting? And fireworks! Oh, Marissa, it shall be spectacular!"
"Have you spoken to Edward about your plans?"
Another dismissive wave. "Bah. These parties only raise his stature in society."
